


to the bright days

by venenix



Series: these ordinary days; [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pride, also 15yo viktor warms my heart, did i mention i've always wanted to write a one shot about the pride?, homophobia doesn't exist but pride marches are still a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-05 05:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10298981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venenix/pseuds/venenix
Summary: The first time Viktor had been to a Pride, he was fifteen years old. He was wearing black and marching with the faltering steps of a person who was just passing by and had been drawn in by the music, following a man with a kind smile and a plastic tiara on the top of his head.The second time Viktor had joined the march, he was almost thirty. He had a small rainbow flag painted on his right cheek and Yuuri was marching by his side, a big smile on his lips and flowers around his neck.





	1. power in a union

**Author's Note:**

> Among my innumerable skills, such as being able to spill milk all over the table when I'm pouring some in my cup or being able to fit fourteen marshmallows into my mouth, there's also one I'm most proud of: ignoring canon details about the show - such as the fact that there's no such thing as homophobia in this world - and writing a fic about the first time a 15-years-old Viktor attended the Pride and how the second time he attended he had the time of his life for more than one reason.  
> I really hope you'll like this and thank you for reading!
> 
> Feedback is love!

Since he was fifteen, Viktor had a certain morning routine he had always been able to replicate each day of the week like on autopilot. Getting up early – even without an alarm – putting on fresh clothes, his bag already packed from last evening – one for school, one for training. The rush down the stairs, even though he was perfectly on time, a goodbye kiss to both his parents and off he went. It was a kind of a long way to school from his house – precisely, Viktor could listen to fifteen or sixteen songs before he would get there. He knew the way by heart, every curve and bump of the road, his eyes fixed on the glass even though he had seen the same view the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and again _and again_.

The mornings at school were his chance to feel grounded: the small talk with his friends, the embarrassment in being called to the board in solving an equation he had no idea how to solve – because Viktor’s love for math was inversily proportional to what he might feel for courses about history or foreign languages. When he was done with school, he would rush to the studio ballet, the bags so heavy on his shoulders, trying very hard not to slip on the ice on the boardwalk. Again.  
  
  
_(“I thought you were like… professionally skating?” teased Evgeni between the fit of laughters. He was snorting and laughing and doing nothing that was actually helpful to help Viktor up._  
  
“Yeah, when I have actual skates on my feet…!” Viktor groaned, grabbing his friend’s arm so he could have some kind of leverage to pull himself up.  
  
“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”)  
  
  
Viktor’s ballet teacher was a very rigid woman and if someone would ever ask him what he remembered most about her, he would always answer: “The really tight chignon on her head and the cane she used on my foot as soon as she noticed that it wasn’t completely touching the floor.” And that would usually drawn the laughter from whoever might have interviewed him in that moment, even though Viktor’s feet were still feeling the ghost pain of the cane pressed against the toes.  
  
And another thing he would always remember, no matter how many years had passed or how many feet under ground that woman was resting, Viktor would always feel her fingers around his jaw, slightly pulling at the corner of his lips.

“No one wants to see that frown on your face, people are paying to see you jump around and look pretty.” and Viktor had smiled in front of the mirrors, his back impossibly straight to the point of aching, the feeling that his leg might dislodge in a matter of seconds, his arm already numb and still locked in an elegant arch in front of him. In the end, she wasn’t a bad woman: she just wasn’t used to be gentle, especially early in the morning. Especially with a boy who wasn’t smiling because there wasn’t a part of his body – even his hair, tied back in a messy braid – which wasn’t aching.

Later on, when he was out of the studio, his face still red and his muscles felt like burning up, Viktor would rush to the rink and follow Yakov – who luckily enough was a bit more human. And his day procedeed like that, among small breaks, shenanigans with Mila and Georgij, who just couldn’t stop making fun of him and his own ballet teacher for being so rigid.  
  
  
_(“Viktor, do you know what would make your routine better than anyone else’s?” would mock Mila, gliding around him with her back awfully straight, the corner of her lips curled down in a disappointed expression. “Smiling! Don’t do anything else, just skate around and smile to the audience, who cares about quads, flips and all that jumping around when you have the fakest smile to show!”._  
  
And Viktor would even try to protect his teacher in some way, but he just couldn’t, there was no harm in making fun of her just a little. Especially when Mila was doing all the job.)  
  
  
And usually his day would end with him going back home, taking a shower, sharing dinner with his parent and going back to his room to watch a movie, before falling asleep and starting over.

And yet, something was about to dislodge the autopilot of his days. And that something was grand and full of colours and music and had a specific name. But Viktor had to wait the end of June to find out.

 

*  


When you have such a rigid routine and each day begins to blend in with the other you start picking up the details which are gonna make your afternoon slightly different. On that day, for an unexpected turn of events, Viktor’s training came to an end earlier than usual. Meaning he had the time to reach the bus stop with all the calm in the world, enjoying a small walk under an azure sky. And maybe, that was something off about that day from the start. Maybe it was the summer breeze shaking the branches or the sound of a busy city.   
  
For Viktor, what really meant change, was music. Not the one coming out from his headphones, but the upbeat noise and the honks of cars and the joyous screams the air was carrying to his ears. He just knew something was different from that single detail. And usually, Viktor would ignore all of that; would walk to the bus stop so that he might go back home and finish studying what he had to and then just collapsing on the bed.

 _But today_. Today was meant to be different. And Viktor was going to enjoy every minute of his unexpected freedom. The song was upbeat, a tune he’d heard over and over again on the radio in the last few days (it wasn’t such a bad song anyway; just not his genre, maybe). Viktor had started smiling since the first person he met, walking around with flowers around her neck and a tiny colourful flag on his cheek. Then another and still another, until the small gathering became a sea of people and the music grew louder and Viktor could feel his cheeks hurting for how big his smile was in that moment.

He had been walking through the same plaza these people were marching on for the last five years or more and yet, today it looked like a complete different place. People were out in the streets, dancing and holding hands and celebrating whatever there was to celebrate for.

Viktor wasn’t naïve and for sure he hadn’t been living in a bubble since now: he knew what those rainbow flags and the flower crowns and the loud voice coming from the speakers of a colourful truck meant. Viktor had seen a few american movies with the same parade, just in different places, with different skin colours and different music. But looking at it through a screen was a thing; and seeing two men kissing right in front of him was another. Viktor turned his head elsewhere, he could already feel his ears going red (what if someone had seen him acting like that? Would they think he was some kind of perv?).

“Got lost?”

Viktor turned around abruptly, staring at the man in front of him. He was taller than him by a few inches, a goal easily achieved by the pair of heels at his feet. At a first glance, he may looked like someone in his twenties. Even though it was the end of June, the air could still be quite chilly: an example about how Russia could still prove to be an unforgiven place. And yet, the man in front of him was going around in shorts and a yellow tank top. On the top of his black hair, there was a silver tiara, the same plastic kind kids usually wear during Carnival.  
  


_(That was his first Pride.)_

_(Viktor Nikiforov was wearing black.)_  
  


He fumbled with the words.

“Are these your natural hair?”. The man’s eyes – so green Viktor had thought for a moment he was wearing lenses, because no one could have eyes so _green_ and clear – were roaming, maybe he was trying to understand by himself if it was just a wig, something not so unexpected during a parade like this one.

“Yes,” Viktor actually found the words stuck in the middle of his throat, bringing all his hair on the right shoulder. They’d grown so long, his mother would fawn over them every once in a while. “my mother told me once I look like a girl like this”. He chuckled, trying to ease the tension he was feeling on his shoulders. The man seemed to notice.

“You look a little tense,” said the man, a benevolent smile on his lips. “Never been to a pride before?”

Viktor shook his head, looking around. The two men kissing weren’t there anymore, but in the end they were surrounded by people holding hands and intent in showing affection, it was actuall hard turning around without stumbling on the view of someone kissing.

“I was passing by,” it was the only thing he was able to say. Viktor was too distracted by a boy with brown hair and a smile to die for, too intent to look at him laughing, trying to vocalizing his laughter in his mind. “My schedule has been suddenly cleared.”  
  
“Good, so you can walk with us”. The man in front of him practically beamed. Viktor had never seen such a genuine and pure smile. He would have followed him anywhere just to see one more time that single smile.

“Where are you going?” Viktor had to raise his voice to be heard among the noise and the music, while still walking side by side with the man. Even though he was strutting around in 4-inches heels it looked like he would have been able to sprint in a matter of minutes. Viktor was struggling to keep walking at his side without being pulled and pushed by the people around him.

“Nowhere in particular. We walk the main roads then we stop at the plaza again. We dance, we sing, we kiss… I mean, that’s something we do even now, but that’s not the point. Anyway, I’m Andrei” and while saying that, Andrei fixed the tiara on his head, like it was the most natural gesture to do after introducing himself.

“Viktor” and as to imitate the gesture, Viktor fixed the strap of his bag on the shoulder. It had not the same elegance and grace Andrei as showed while fixing his plastic crown.

“Coming out of the gym, Viktor?”  
  
“More or less,” he chuckled. “The rink, actually”  
  
“A skater. I did try to skate once, when I was a boy, but I fell so hard on my leg that when I went home my thigh was a huge violet bruise. Never touched the ice again. My brother still laugh about that to this day.”  
  
“The first time I put the skates on I lost one baby tooth,” confessed Viktor, trying to make him feel better somehow and telling him something so embarrassing from his childhood seemed a good choice. “and the second time I sprained my wrist while trying to soften a fall. Definitely not a good start.”  
  
“I once had a boyfriend that was stubborn as you are,” said, and Andrei for a moment got distracted by a man waving at him. Andrei waved back, saying something Viktor hadn’t been able to understand. Around him, people were still shouting and dancing around while following the van – such a small van in comparison to the two huge speakers who had been pumping the music since he got there. He could faintly see, beyond the sea of people, other three or four trucks slowly driving along the main road.

“So, Viktor,” had said, while handing him a small rainbow sticker he’d been able to take from a guy, “where’s your boyfriend?”  
  
The moment Andrei finished that sentence Viktor felt the realization falling on him with the force of a sudden wave. Where he was, what he was doing. It was like someone rendered him all of sudden hyper aware of his surroundings, the way the flag billowed in the air or the sound of laughter around him or the heavy weight on his left shoulder. Andrei was still looking at him with his big green eyes – and seriously, that green was ridicolous, no one could have these kind of green in their eyes – an expectant smile playing on his lips. Viktor had just noticed the small red earing on his lobe. He wondered for a moment if he was used to wearing it every day or today was just an exception.

Viktor showed a smile. “No boyfriend.”  
  
“Then a girlfriend?” asked Andrei, still with the same kind smile, the same beaming eyes.

“No girlfriend either,” Viktor pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, looking towards a girl with a pink wig dancing with a child in his arms. The kid looked like he was having the time of his life. “How about you, Andrei? Boyfriend or girlfriend?”  
  
“Happily married,” and there was proud in his voice and pure happiness in his eyes when he extended his hand. At his finger, there was a gold band, glinting in the sun. “even though just since January, awful time to get married, but Matt loves winter and thought it was a good idea have a wedding in that season.”  
  
“He might also love freezing to death,” joked Viktor, admiring the gold ring and then glancing up towards the man.  
  
“He’s irish,” and just with that, Viktor seemed to understand. Just a foreigner – or a real braveheart – could possibly think of getting married in the heart of winter. In Russia. “but I guess he was kinda right, the wedding photos were amazing.”

They’d spent quite a lot talking and marching. Andrei seemed the kind of man who was still head over heels even after so long with his partner. Matt and Andrei got together during his school trip in Ireland and, as he liked to tell, it was love at first sight. Matt had brown hair (the only one in his redhair family) and the kind of hands girls fall in love with, similar to a pianist, even though Matt had never played piano or any other musical instrument in his entire life. When Matt had opened the door of the house Andrei would have been hosted for the remaining two weeks, he had tried to impress him by saying something in Russian, but it was so messy and the words so dragged that Andrei didn’t understand a thing.

They had decided to talk in english from that day on, but Andrei sometimes would still slip in the conversation one or two Russian words, something that would drive Matt crazy, unable to repeat them without cracking Andrei up.

“I’ve fell in love with him since he had first welcomed me in his house with his stumbling and awful Russian. I still fall in love with him everytime his accent shows during our conversations.” Andrei had joked.

But Viktor thought it was the sweetest thing he had ever heard and for a moment he’d wished to hear that stumbling Russian, the accent showing, because he was sure he would fell in love, too, even without ever actually seeing the man.

The sky had began to show a shade of darker red. It had spent so much time marching and listening to Andrei’s stories he didn’t even realised.

“I have to go, I can’t miss the bus,” said, the pace of his step faltering, he was starting to fall behind. People around him were still celebrating.

Andrei showed a big smile. “Be careful on the way home, Viktor,” said, keeping on marching on, raising his arm to wave at him. It looked like he was being drawn away by the crowd, like seeing a boat leaving the harbor. “I’ll see you again at the next Pride!”.

Viktor thought it was a very nice wish to make.

He rode the bus back home while his mind was still playing the same, sweet smile, the glinting of the gold ring around Andrei’s finger, the way his eyes would glow everytime he talked about Matt. Viktor took a shower and changed into fresh clothes and talked to his parents about their days and still his mind couldn't stay quiet, couldn't stop replaying the afternoon, like it was some kind of broken record. 

“I’ve been at the Pride march today,” he had told his father, too focused on the dishes he was cleaning, like he was doing something that was a matter of life or death. But at that, his father raised his eyes. He didn’t ask question, didn’t press on with urgent tones. His father had simply showed a smile, his eyes curious behind the glasses.

“Did you have fun?”

Viktor nodded.

When he had gone to his room, Viktor was still playing the day over and over again in his mind, the rainbow sticker Andrei had given him now a bit crumpled. He sat on the windowsill, looking out towards the plaza. He could not hear the music anymore, but somehow he could still hear it in his ears, playing faintly (or maybe it was just the tv from downstairs and that was just his mind tricking him). For a brief moment, Viktor wondered if, in that precise minute, Andrei was holding Matt’s hand or dancing with him in the plaza or kissing him. Was Andrei a good kisser? Was Matt dancing as good as his stumbling Russian? How many people had attended at the wedding?  
  
For Viktor it was like building a modern fairytale. And he had kept on building it until he felt his eyes heavy and his head swaying forward from time to time.

 

_(That night, Viktor dreamed Andrei. He was wearing a wedding suit and when he spoke to him, Viktor had found his accent unbearable. And yet, his heart skipped a beat anyway.)_

 


	2. I'm also a We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> «[...] today, I march to remember that I'm not just a me. I'm also a we. And we march with pride.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm very proud of this work. Yes, it could be better - I think so, too, this second chapter was hell to write mostly because I forced myself into writing it - and yes, I have still a long way to go, because there's always room for improvement. But I'm proud of this because Pride month has always been something very close to my heart and I wanted to do something for it.  
> So I hope you'll like this and I also hope you'll tell me! Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Feedback is love!

The thing was: the morning had been great, wonderful. The weather was nice, the sky beared no threatening clouds, Makkachin didn’t even startle him awake by jumping on the bed. _But then_. Then it started. It started in the morning, at an awful hour like 8:38AM, with Viktor leaning against the door with a grin on his lips, and may Yuuri be damned forever for asking him why he was standing there in his underwear with that smile on his face.

“You know why I am leaning against this door frame, Yuuri?” he repeated, his eyes still fixed on the boy.  
  
It was too early for this. It was too early, it was all too blurry and unfocused for someone like Yuuri, who still had just blood in his veins and not black coffee.

“It’s a metaphor,” he must have sensed that, at that time of the morning, his hands still not occupied by a cup of coffee, it would’ve been impossible for Yuuri to reply.  
  
“A metaphor for what, Vitya?”  
  
“It’s for showing that, just like my posture, I’m unable to be straight.”

Yuuri knew what kind of look he had on his face. The look that said ‘I can’t believe I married you’ while simultanously thinking ‘this is my life now, I gotta accept it’. And the morning had just gone south from there. Everything had conspired to make Yuuri’s day filled with bad puns and it seems the gayer, the more Viktor was pleased with himself. Especially when Yuuri found his cup with a writing on saying ‘#1 bro’.

“Did you seriously buy a cup with this on? There’s not even a pun here,” Yuuri said, while sipping on his coffee. And that has been Viktor’s cue to start singing “two broos”, all the while keeping a hand on his thigh and stroking it in a kind of seductive manner. He had not the time to finish the song, Yuuri got up from the table first, trying to find comfort in their room. Viktor had followed him right away, throwing himself on the bed slowly crawling beside his husband.

“You know what day is it today, love?”  
  
“The day you drive me mad and you force me to go sleeping at my parents’ house because there’s so many gay puns I can take?” asked, a playful smile on his face.

“There’s the Pride today!” Viktor practically beamed at him, Yuuri thought it was like seeing a child who just found out the circus had come into town.  
  
“That’s why your sense of humour actually took a downward turn today?” Yuuri asked in the same moment Viktor launched himself to the closet and picked out from some dark and deep corner a rainbow flag. In two years living together, Yuuri had never seen that flag before so he wasn’t sure if it was a recent purchase or some forgotten relique that just had remained hidden until now. Either way, rainbow suited his husband.

“Com’on” he sang-song, the flag dropped onto his shoulders, a big smile on his lips. “It’ll be fun and,” he said, taking out a smaller rainbow flag on a stick. It was Yuuri’s flag, three lines of purple, violet and blue. “I also found this in the same shop, sadly it was the only size they had.”

The thought of Viktor buying him a bi flag just because he wanted him to belong brought a smile to his face.  
  
“And,” he said, while inching closer to the bed and sitting down next to him. “I could draw little rainbow hearts on your cute cheeks” he sang-song, biting his bottom lip. Yuuri thought the last time he saw him that enthusiast about something was when, three days ago, Viktor told him the worth of the message in Moulin Rouge in the whole range of musicals and, indeed, how much precious is love and knowing that ‘the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and to be loved in return’, he had quoted.

“I’ve never been to a Pride” said Yuuri, leaning his back against the headboard. Actually, he did go to a Pride, but only if it meant ‘passing by marching people while techinically not still out with your family and on your way to go to the rink’. He had always wanted to join – maybe one day – but, after all, Yuuri was known for being not particularly fond of pressing crowds.  

“There’s a first time for everything,” Viktor said, while casually sitting on his laps, knees apart. He covered them both with the flag like his whole intentions was shieding them from the world in a colorful cocoon.

“If you really want to, then we’ll go.” Replied Yuuri, and as a thank you, Viktor gave him a kiss, his hand cupping gently his cheek. Yuuri could taste on his tongue coffee and Viktor’s favourite chocolate – the one with almonds and cinnamon. Rainbow actually suited him.

Pity he hadn’t got the chance to say it aloud.

 

*

“Stay still!” Yuuri chuckled, stopping in the middle of what he believed it was the start of a masterpiece. He couldn’t pride himself to be a great painter but Viktor was making his job even harder than normal. Especially when Viktor had the brilliant idea of drawing rainbow hearts on each other _at the same time_.

“I am still!” Viktor replied, the point of his tongue sticking out while he was intent in redefining the outline of Yuuri’s heart. It made it seem like it was a terrible complex job – funny thing, since for the last competition Viktor was ready to go in twenty minutes tops between fixing his hair and make up (Viktor had asked him if he was ready while Yuuri was still applying his foundation, his hair still a complete mess while Viktor looked like a model who just popped out from a fashion magazine). “We’re gonna be late.” he added, putting down the blue pencil.

“Vitya, it’s gonna start in a hour and I would be already done if you just stood still,” he commented, finishing the job and admiring it. He could already see the differences between the heart Viktor draw on his cheek and the one Yuuri drew on his husband’s. “It’s a bit crooked, sorry.”

“Well, you could say—“

“Don’t.” Yuuri stopped him right away. “You’ve reached your gay puns quota for today.”

Viktor pouted his lips, visibly upset by the knowledge there was even a quota in the first place. When the make up session was over and Yuuri had done everything he could and more to convince his husband not to turn it into a make out session – because no way he would go out with his face the colour of Viktor’s lipstick – they were ready to go. Yuuri had left the house to Makkachin’s care (“I know we can trust you.” he had said it with too much confidence for a dog who had just stared at him with his tongue lolling out and the most peaceful expression).

Walking outside with a heart painted on his cheek and a crop top that said ‘ _by and ready to fly_ ’ (thanks to Phichit and his, _oh_ always so accurate gifts) was a new experience for Yuuri, mostly because it wasn’t everyday he could wear something like this outside his house or the rink, when the right mood strikes. Viktor was pretty confident and happy about his choice – this because seeing Yuuri’s tummy was one of the sweetest pleasure life had gifted him.

They had just started leaving the plaza when Yuuri and Viktor arrived, going after a little yellow pickup. A man in black stilettos and a corset was sitting on top of the speakers, waving and blowing kisses and throwing flowers at the crowd. Viktor instantly thought of another man, with a plastic tiara on his head and a tiny red earring on the lobe and words of honey for his irish husband. At his side, Yuuri had his head tilted back, looking at the bubbles someone was blowing somewhere ahead. He was looking up like some kid who had just discovered the outside world and was taking it all in.

A girl next to him practically beamed at Yuuri, she was talking pretty excitedly but Viktor couldn’t hear a single thing she was saying because of the loud music and the cheers.  
  
_(between all the noise and the crowd, Viktor had never felt so much at ease and calm.)_

“Did she recognize you?” Viktor asked, when the girl went up ahead to meet with the rest of her friends. She had waved back to both of them and Viktor had showed her a big smile while Yuuri shyly waved her goodbye.

“She wanted a selfie,” Yuuri had admited it like it was something to be sorry about. “ _and_ she complimented the beautiful heart I have on my cheek.” At that, Viktor ran a hand through his hair, puffing out his chest like some kind of proud peackcok.

“Yeah, I’ve always knew someday someone would have recognized my talent as a painter.”

Yuuri lightly elbowed his side.

Yuuri and Viktor got recognized at least by thirty different people that day and tried their best to take selfies with them and exchanging a few words. Most of them gravitated toward Yuuri, who was still devastantigly beautiful even after hours of marching under the sun and a pressing crowd.  
  
(Later that evening, Viktor would have found a photo gone viral on Instagram: Yuuri had been captured in mid laughter, his hand slightly raised toward his face. And Viktor, beside him, with the rainbow flag draping both of their shoulders, had eyes only for him, the corner of his lips slightly curled upwards. A gentle smile.)  
  
(Viktor has that picture as a lockscreen.)

Viktor had different memories about his first Pride. He remembers going back home and looking out from his window and imagining how many people, in that moment, were dancing and exchanging kisses. He remembers marching, just because it happened on a random day because of a casual series of events. He remembers being fifteen and wearing black to a parade full of colours.

But right now, Viktor is almost twenty-nine. He had joined at least other ten Prides since then, alone or with ex-lovers or friends (he still remembers vividly the day Georgij and Mila had gone with him. They had spent the end of the Pride hugging each other close. Viktor had felt like his chest was too close for his heart). He had met new people, he had marched with a flag draped around his shoulders and his head held high, a big smile on his lips.

But this one.

Viktor had a terrible memory, everyone knew it and nobody made it a secret. It seemed like a matter of life and death reminding everyone how bad Viktor was at remembering things. But if there was something Viktor was sure he would be unable to forget because printed into his head with fire was that evening, at the end of the Pride.

Yuuri, standing in the middle of the plaza, a big smile on his face, the colour of his heart a bit smeared down, his fingers gripping tightly Viktor’s and his lips singing a song Viktor didn’t know. They were dancing and laughing and the sky had started drowning in shades of orange and red. His other hand was gripping tightly the side of the rainbow flag, letting it sail through the wind. Like he was showing to the world his presence and was saying ‘I’m here, look at me’.  
  


(Viktor didn’t want to tear his eyes away from him.)  
  
(Yuuri made sure he did not.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title and quote is taken from Nomi's speech from Sense8 S1E2
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://venenix.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "There's Power in a Union" by Billy Bragg
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr as [venenix](http://venenix.tumblr.com/)


End file.
